


Land-o-Smiles

by sassmaster_tiresias



Category: The Man in the High Castle (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Shocking I know, mutual?, probably, set during Land-o-Smiles episode, some not completely intentional Frank bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-23 00:12:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11391324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassmaster_tiresias/pseuds/sassmaster_tiresias
Summary: Ed is trying to hide the pain, but Robert hates to watch him suffer.





	Land-o-Smiles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queer_cheer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queer_cheer/gifts).



> This isn't TECHNICALLY part of the Life as We Know It AU, but it could be if you wanted it to.

Robert Childan does not like Frank Frink. In fact, he might even hate Frank Frink. Were it not for the fact that Robert was irrevocably entangled in Frank’s scam, he would have kicked the man out of his store and apartment ages ago. 

Ed McCarthy, on the other hand, doesn’t seem all bad. Yes, he’s a friend of Frank, which is a spot on anyone’s reputation in Robert’s book, but he has some sort of moral compass, at least, and generally seems like a kind person. 

When Frank had first shown up at Robert’s door with Ed in tow, Robert had seen the figure standing at Frank’s shoulder and ire had risen in his throat for any person willing to associate with the man. However, when Robert had actually laid eyes on Ed—all big ears and mussed hair and thin face covered in ugly black bruises—Robert simply couldn’t bring himself to hate him.

Lord, did he try, though. Every time Ed agreed with Frank on something, or helped in the creation of the counterfeit cufflinks, or dragged Robert into a situation that _nearly got them both killed_ , Robert did his damnedest to muster up some sort of hate for Ed McCarthy. But every time, Ed would look at him with those big sad eyes, a silent apology in the quirk at the corner of his lips, and Robert couldn’t help but forgive him.

It only gets harder as Robert observes Ed day to day in the shop. As the bruises on his face fade, from the black of their first meeting to a yellow that almost blends into Ed’s skin in the right light, Robert still notices Ed rubbing at his jaw occasionally, working the joint to see if it still makes that odd clicking sound. Or he’ll prod gently at the flesh under his eye, seeing if it’s still tender. His left hip seems to bother him, he always leans against a table or display case to take weight off of it, if he can.

Frank doesn’t seem to notice any of this, sending his best friend running off around San Francisco on errands, heedless of the fact that Ed is almost always limping when he comes back. Caught up in his own ever reeling mind, Frank doesn’t see the constant tautness of Ed’s face as he tries to hide the pain.

Robert’s anxiety makes him hyper-vigilant though, and he notices everything.

One day, while Frank is out—probably with his fancy new Resistance girlfriend—Robert is tidying up around his apartment in back of the shop. Frank tends to leave a mess wherever he goes, and has no interest in cleaning up after himself.

Ed, appearing from the shop-proper (he likes to look at the merchandise, which makes Robert’s chest swell with pride every time he notices Ed lingering over the cases), stops at Robert’s shoulder. He’s dusting a shelf of his personal favorite antiques, delicately going over the details of them to make sure they’re spotless.

“Can I help at all?” Ed asks.

Robert glances back at him, and can’t help but notice that Ed is favoring the troublesome left hip, his right hand planted on a (recently polished, gleaming) mahogany end table to hold himself up. He can’t hold back a wince on behalf of the poor man.

“While I appreciate the offer,” Robert replies, “I’d much rather just do it myself. That way, everything will be exactly as I like it.” Thank you, though almost slips off of Robert’s tongue at the end, but he bites it back.

He can practically hear the roll of Ed’s eyes, but even still, Ed grumbles, “Suit yourself,” and walks away.

Continuing in his dusting, Robert watches from the corner of his eye as Ed makes his way to the cushy sofa. He sinks down into it with a sigh, supporting himself against the curving arm of the couch. He drops his head back against the worn fabric, at just the right angle that Robert can see his face.

At the sight of the furrow between Ed’s brows, Robert can’t take it anymore. He puts down the dust cloth and goes over to his desk, opening the rightmost drawer and taking out his Land-o-Smiles tin.

As he makes his way over to the couch, Robert takes one of the marijuana cigarettes for himself. He steps over Ed’s outstretched legs, dropping the tin into Ed’s lap and bending to pick up a book of matches from the coffee table. He flops onto the opposite end of the couch, limbs sprawled around him.

Although he hasn’t lifted his head yet, Ed’s eyes are open and he watches as Robert lights the cigarette, takes a drag, and lets out a satisfied breath of smoke. Feeling Ed’s eyes on him, Robert holds the matches out.

“You’re welcome to one, if you like,” Robert says.

Ed turns the brightly decorated tin over in his hands, running his thumb over the raised lettering. He shakes his head. “No, thanks. Tried one, a regular cigarette, once, but my lungs…” he shrugs vaguely and sets the tin on the cushion between himself and Robert.

They lapse into silence, Ed staring at his hands in his lap and Robert watching him. He takes a couple more lungfuls of the smoke, letting it really sink into him, before he says, “These aren’t quite as harsh. I usually have one if I’ve got a headache.”

While not exactly true—Robert has no qualms about indulging himself, whether or not his head or anything else is ailing him—Robert hopes that Ed will catch the message. He seems to, perhaps, as he lifts his head, catching Robert’s eye. Robert lets his gaze drift to Ed’s bad hip before meeting his stare again. When Ed still doesn’t move to pick the tin back up, Robert lets himself sink further into the cushions.

_Fine. Suit yourself, Mr. McCarthy._

Just as Robert is lifting the cigarette to his lips again, there’s flash of movement in his periphery. Ed snaps the tin open and shakes a cigarette into the palm of his hand. “Can I have those matches, please?” he mumbles, glancing at Robert.

Robert isn’t sure what comes over him, but rather that hand him the whole book, Robert strikes one and leans across, lighting Ed’s cigarette for him.

On his first drag, Ed’s lungs reject the smoke, and Robert flinches at the way the cough grates in the poor man’s throat. For nearly a minute, Ed coughs into his elbow, leaning heavily against the arm of the couch and holding the cigarette away from himself. When he’s finally managed catch his breath again, he looks at the cigarette dubiously.

“Try a smaller breath,” Robert offers. “I promise, it’ll get better.”

Ed doesn’t cough as much on the second pull, and soon he seems to have gotten the hang of it.

Robert is delighted to see Ed slowly relaxing, as his head lolls back against the couch once more. Elbow propped against the arm of the couch, Ed lets the butt of the cigarette rest idly against his lips.

The muscles in Ed’s forehead unclench first, right before Robert’s watchful eyes. His eyebrows smooth into gentle arches, and the wrinkle between them vanishes. His eyelids flutter, resting easily over Ed’s blue eyes. It’s when Robert sees the tension drop from Ed’s cheeks, allowing his jaw to go completely slack, that the words come tumbling out.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” Robert says. Even as he speaks, Robert can see Ed snapping back to attention, and he curses himself for ruining Ed’s moment of peace.

Ed opens his eyes again, locking them on Robert’s, and in that moment Robert is sure that Ed can see right through him. With nine words, Robert has given himself away completely. All of the times he’s watched Ed milling about the shop, or admired from afar as Ed hunches over the workbench with Frank, unacknowledged envy simmering in his gut at the closeness of the two men. Every time he’s flinched in sync with Ed, or stepped forward a little to eagerly to lend an arm in support. Every moment he’s stared too long, hoping to see that those horrible bruises have finally disappeared from Ed’s face.

Ed doesn’t speak, but a smile appears on his face. Despite how small it is, there’s something in the way Ed relaxes once more, body molding to the couch, that tells Robert that the smile Ed has just given him is completely genuine. It’s not one of those tight-lipped things he forces to make Frank feel good, or when he’s trying to buck up and keep going.

“Don’t worry, Rob,” Ed says, his eyes slipping shut yet again, “I gotcha.”


End file.
